Turning and Turning

Judith February

Description

South Africans often are deeply polarised in our perspectives of the present and the past. Our ‘ways of seeing’ are fraught with division, and we fail to understand the complexities when we do not see what lies beneath the surface.

There is no denying that the Jacob Zuma presidency took a significant toll on South Africa, exacerbating tensions and exposing the deep fractures that already exist in our society along the lines of race, class and even ethnicity. The Zuma years were marked by cases of corruption and state capture, unprecedented in their brazenness, and increased social protests – many of which were accompanied by violence – aggressive public discourse, lack of respect for reason and an often disturbing resistance to meaningful engagement.

Importantly, those years also placed enormous pressure on our democratic institutions, many of which still bear the scars, and challenged the sovereignty of the Constitution itself. As an analyst and governance specialist at the Institute for Democracy in South Africa (IDASA) for twelve years, February has had a unique perch. Turning and turning is a snapshot of her IDASA years and the issues tackled, which included work on the arms deal and its corrosive impact on democratic institutions, IDASA’s party-funding campaign, which February helped lead, as well as work on accountability and transparency.
Combining analytical insight with personal observations and experience, February highlights the complex process of building a strong democratic society, and the difficulties of living in a constitutional democracy marked by soaring levels of inequality. There is a need to reflect on and learn from the country’s democratic journey if citizens are to shape our democracy effectively and to fulfill the promise of the Constitution for all South Africans.

Sujets

• Political Science
• Political
• General officer
• Politics
• General

Informations

• Publié par: Pan Macmillan South Africa
• Date de parution: 01 août 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781770105744
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

For Mom and Dad – the first teachers



First published in 2018 by Picador Africa
an imprint of Pan Macmillan South Africa
Private Bag X19, Northlands
Johannesburg
2116
www.panmacmillan.co.za
ISBN 9781770105737
e-ISBN 9781770105744
© Judith February 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
Editing by Sharon Dell
Proofreading by Russell Martin
Research assistance by Terence Corrigan
Design and typesetting by Triple M Design, Johannesburg
Cover design by publicide
Author photograph by Leila Dougan


Contents
Acknowledgements vii
Introduction 1
1. Transparency and accountability: The case of money and politics 30
2. Polokwane 81
3. Of protest, burning and public discourse 115
4. The arms deal 177
5. #ANC54 206
6. Can South Africa re-imagine itself? Looking back, looking forward 249
Appendix: Issues raised in the Public Protector’s report into state capture 282
Notes and references 285


Acknowledgements
T here is always a raft of people to thank when embarking on a project like this.
My first thanks must go to my parents, to whom this book is dedicated. I am grateful to them for many things – that I grew up in a home which always had books, that I had books even before I was born and that they ensured that I received the very best education even during the years of apartheid. They also gave me the confidence to trust my own voice and to be sure of my place in the world.
Attending Springfield Convent School had a profound impact on all of us who had the privilege of being educated in such a beautiful place. It was the first school to open its doors to girls of all races in 1976 and the first to offer matric to young women. Subtly, it also encouraged our individual eccentricities and curiosity. There were teachers who had a great influence on me during those years and who instilled in us all a love for learning and a truth-seeking impulse. I am indebted to Melanie Bruce and Margie Corlett, my senior school English teachers, Bernie Keeson, my formidable Latin teacher who is, in great measure, responsible for my lifelong love for the Classics, and Sr Marcellus, my History teacher, who was a wise and gentle soul, always accompanied to class by her dog! It was also at Springfield that I made some of the most meaningful, lifelong friendships with women who are grounded, clever, funny and who unapologetically chart their own course.
But this journey would never have begun had it not been for my years of working at IDASA. I will be forever grateful for the twelve years I spent there and for all the people I met along the way. There are too many to mention but I will single out my ‘bosses’, during the time I headed up the Political Information and Monitoring Service (PIMS), Paul Graham and Ivor Jenkins. It was probably the journey of all our lives. My thanks also go especially to my former colleagues at IDASA whom I was privileged to work with when I headed up PIMS – Jonathan Faull, Shameela Seedat, Nonhlanhla Chanza, Perran Hahndiek, Ralph Mathekga, Kate Lefko-Everett, Justin Sylvester, Gary Pienaar, Collette Schulz-Herzenberg, Tanya Shanker and our late colleague Nathi Nomatiti, who will always be remembered for his courage. And, of course, thanks to my dear friend and then colleague, Ebrahim Fakir for his ‘democratic schooling’! They are colleagues and friends who are whip smart and committed to South Africa and they enriched my understanding of democracy immeasurably. All continue to do important democracy-building work. More recently, at the Institute for Security Studies, I have found a happy professional home and I am grateful to my colleagues Anton du Plessis, Jakkie Cilliers and Gareth Newham.
My thanks must also go to Terence Corrigan for his research assistance on this book. Without his hard work and meticulous attention to detail, the book would not have seen the light of day. He worked under some trying personal circumstances and I am grateful for his commitment despite those. My former IDASA colleague Bronwen Muller read various versions of the manuscript along the way and was encouraging, supportive and helped me to keep my perspective throughout. Thanks Bron, for always believing there was a book to be written. And thanks to Natasha Pillay, who read the first version of this book and remained optimistic! To Paula Baldwin, one of the ‘first friends’, thank you for your insights on covers and colours. Our conversations on books, travel, art, food, politics and the state of the world, continue – 30 years on – and across continents. To Sue and John Pace for their encouragement and varied offers of help, thank you.
Ingrid de Kok is one of our country’s finest poets and a wise and treasured friend. She has graciously allowed me to use two of her poems in this book, as has Antjie Krog, another of South Africa’s finest poets and writers. I am grateful to them both.
Most of this book was written under the old oak trees of the La Belle Bistro at Alphen, Constantia. So a special thank you must go to ‘my’ waiters, Ashton Chidemo, Tinashe Chikwari and Anesu Muvirimi, who were very much part of this writing journey and continually asked me, ‘How’s the book going?’ They themselves are children of the Zimbabwean diaspora and their conversations and friendship have been enriching.
And finally, thank you to Andrea Nattrass of Pan Macmillan for her gentle, guiding hand and unending patience. Andrea first approached me to write this book in 2016 and assured me it would be a worthwhile project. She was right. Thanks also to Sharon Dell and Russell Martin, who edited and proofread this book and whose eagle eyes definitely made it better in the end. Its myriad shortcomings and limitations are mine alone.
South Africa is a complex and complicated place to live – a place of subtle and dramatic beauty, of deep inequality and political frustrations, yet equally a place of the second chance, of resilience, resourcefulness, deeply contested spaces and hope. That is the country I mean to reflect on in the pages that follow – the place of my heart.
Judith February
Cape Town
June 2018


The Second Coming
Turning and turning in the widening gyre
The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
The best lack all conviction, while the worst
Are full of passionate intensity.
Surely some revelation is at hand;
Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.
The darkness drops again but now I know
That twenty centuries of stony sleep
Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?
W.B. YEATS (1865–1939)


Introduction
I t’s the height of summer. The Knysna Waterfront, with its plush Quays apartments, is home to the ‘haves’, many of whom are out cruising on the lagoon. ‘Messing about in boats,’ as Toad would say. On the Waterfront, shops hug the water, luring tourists and locals alike. A small kiosk does brisk business selling sweets, crisps, cigarettes and other consumables.
Outside the shop a glass-encased arcade game attracts children. It sells a dream and asks for only R2. In exchange you might, by pulling the lever, cause the mechanised hand to clutch not a booby prize but a digital watch.
Two young boys wait and obsessively watch the lever; no doubt they are dreaming big. Their faces encrusted with dirt and their ragged dress provide every clue of where they fit in this higgledy-piggledy unequal society. Shyly they approach customers asking for R2, maybe even R1, so they can piece together money to play the game.
The challenge is that the lever is only active for eighteen seconds. Only eighteen seconds to win the watch! They scrape together the money but, being amateurs, their dreams of owning the watch are quickly dashed. They approach another passerby and they are back in business. Another R2 into the slot. But again, the watch eludes them.
They walk off disappointed but perhaps also not. Theirs is a familiar lot amongst the poorest of South Africa’s children. Dreams are seldom realised and wishes mostly don’t come true.
Theirs is the face of inequality in South Africa and the scene is ever-poignant as the wealthy pass by en route to their champagne cruises. The Knysna Waterfront slogan is ‘Where the living is easy’. This encapsulates neatly the ambiguity of South Africa – its collective social schizophrenia.
As the boys stroll off, I wonder what the upcoming school year will be like for them. What else did they dream of – aside from the cheap watch? What had brought them out to the Waterfront alone on a balmy evening in the summer holidays?
To live in South Africa we have to ‘see and unsee’. For how do we live a sane life in our oases of privilege amidst a sea of heartbreak and inequality? We know that our ‘ways of seeing’ are different; our disagreements about our fu